


It's All Fun and Games Until...

by pissedoffeskimo



Series: Incestuous Cross-country Shenanigans [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, John's Dubious Parenting Skills, M/M, Prank Wars, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so fine, Dean may have stepped a pinky toe over of line with the shower thing, but Sam took a flying leap into no-man’s land and that wasn’t even the worst part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Fun and Games Until...

John was pretty sure leaving was a mistake. He was fully aware that Sam and Dean were currently engaged in a prank war. He knew leaving them alone was giving them carte blanch. There would be no one there to make sure it didn’t get too far out of hand and no one to mitigate the damage if it occurred – okay, _when_ it occurred – but, on the other hand, at least he wouldn’t be caught in the middle this time and, worst came to worst, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to yank one of his boys out of the system.

“Keep it clean.” Sam grinned innocently from the sofa, but John knew better. “Sam…”

The grin dropped, “Fine. Clean. I get it.”

Dean?”

Dean gave his best reassuring smile, “I’ve got this, Dad, don’t worry. Clean fight.”

“No, no fights! Dear god, no fights. I don’t want someone calling Social Services again. This starts to get out of hand and I’m leaving it to you to back out. Are we clear?”

He nodded, still smiling and not for the first time, John considered taking Dean with him. Sam was sixteen, more then old enough to watch after himself for a few days, or even a week if it came to that. Except the neighbor was getting nosey again, so having an adult around would look better if CPS showed up and, more importantly, just because he took Dean with him, didn’t mean they were even calling a time out. The last time he’d tried that, Sam had rigged a stink bomb to go off in Dean’s duffle six hours out of town and the inside of the car, not to mention its two occupants and all their clothing had smelled like dead skunk for two weeks. It had also earned rule number one of prank wars – as long as the title of that car was in John’s name, it was off limits.

Even if he managed to get Dean out without Sam setting up some form of booby-trap, though, it just gave the devious little bastard a week alone to come up with something truly horrendous. So, no, taking Dean wasn’t an option. Best to get out of the line of fire and let them work it out on their own.

“Dean, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” That was better, more like he was responding to an order and less like he was placating his father. John still would have liked a better solution to the problem, but sometimes, he figured he just had to cut his losses and get the hell out of Dodge. By the time he got back, the whole thing should have mostly blown over. If he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he’d be walking into the epicenter of the devastation.

 

*****

 

John left Sunday night and Monday morning Dean woke up to the freedom of not having to do a damn thing. Sam was pretty much self sufficient. He could get himself up and dressed and while Dean usually dropped him off at school, Dad had the car and this apartment was close enough for Sam to walk.

The apartment was small, but had an actual dedicated bedroom with two beds and an en suite bathroom – the only one in the apartment, but still. The living room was barely large enough for the couch and small television, with a four chair round kitchen table behind that and an archway that led into a kitchen that only one of them could fit in at a time, but was actually pretty clean and the stove worked, so Dean wasn’t complaining.

Just outside the bedroom door, he could hear a spoon clinking against one of the bowls that had come with the apartment as Sam finished his cereal. The water turned on and, wonder of all wonders, Sam was actually doing his own dishes. Usually, the kid just dropped the bowl in the sink and ran out the door, but Dean wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The bedroom door cracked opened and Sam poked his head in, “You awake?”

“Yeah. Wa’s up?”

“Just heading out. I started the dishwasher.”

“Got it.”

The front door opened a minute later and closed, the lock turning with a click. Dean stretched out on the bed and lay limply in the scratchy sheets for a few more minutes before finally dragging himself up. It was early, but he was up and one of the unfortunate draw backs to life as a Hunter was that once he was up, he was up. The shower chased the last of the sleep out of his head and as he brushed his teeth, he looked at himself in the mirror, noting the fading edges of the bruise on the side of his head, just under the hairline.

Stupid chupacabras were fucking fast. At least it wasn’t a jackalope – that shit was seriously messed up. Small and fast, it was a furry little ball of teeth and horns that leapt so far it practically flew at you. While his friends had been laughing at the rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Dean had been having Vietnam style flash backs to a hunt in south Texas.

He pulled on the white shirt he’d left out and after a few minutes with some product and a comb, Dean felt pretty much ready to start the day.

Then he left the bathroom and all hell broke lose, because Dean had forgotten that they were in the middle of a prank war and even if he had remembered, he wouldn’t have expected to walk out to a wall of watery foam pouring out of the tiny kitchen into the dining room.

“What the fuck!?”

He slipped on the soapy carpet and caught himself against the wall, watching in dismay as thick white foam that smelled too strongly of flowers and what he guessed was supposed to be the ‘linen fresh’ scent of their off brand laundry detergent. Son of a bitch had put laundry detergent in the dishwasher and if the amount of soap leaking out between the cracks was anything to go by, he’d used the entire damn bottle. It was going to take hours to clean up.

As he rushed, skidding on bare feet over soap matted carpet, he swore Sam was gonna pay hard for this one.

 

******

 

It took the entire afternoon, because even after he got the water stopped and cleaned up the floor, he’d had to scrub the inside of the decade old dishwasher with all its years of caked on soap scum until he was sure there wasn’t anymore detergent left in there and, since he’d used all their towels doing it, he’d had to go to the Laundromat down the street to wash them. By the time he got home, Sam was dutifully and innocently doing his homework, feet crossed in the wooden chair so they didn’t touch the wet floor.

Dean dropped the towels on the sofa and Sam’s shoulders were shaking so hard he was hunched over himself at the table, snorts of laughter coming from behind the fall of shaggy brown hair hiding his smile. “Oh, you think that’s funny, smart ass?”

Sam swallowed down his laughter long enough to say, “A little bit.” But still didn’t look up to meet Dean’s glare.

“Just fold the damn towels.”

They didn’t say anything to each other the rest of the night and the next morning, Dean was up before Sam, plotting revenge. It took an entire day, but he finally had it. There were certain things that were off limits. The car, for one, but he would never defile the Impala that way. Food, for another, because Sam had put a highly potent medical grade laxative in a pie once that both Dean and John had dug into and six hours later they were jockeying for the only toilet in the apartment while Sam nearly pissed himself laughing. He also wasn’t allowed to do anything management would take out of their deposit.

So, okay, that left a few options. He could freeze all of Sam’s underwear, but he’d already done that twice this year. He could rub superglue on the toilet seat, but the timing had to be right and there was a slim chance he’d accidentally glue himself to it instead.

As he picked through the steadily thinning cupboards for something to eat for lunch, he noticed a small box stuck in the back. He pulled it out of a nest of cobwebs and read the label in amusement. Food coloring. Dear god, how long had that been back there? At least two years according to the expiration date.

He grabbed the bag of pork rinds and tossed the box in the trash on the way to the couch, stopped, and backed up, fishing the food coloring out of a sea of floral scented paper towels.

 

*****

 

“Dean, you jerk!”

Dean sat at the table, eating his cereal and waited patiently for Sam to come storming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waste, his skin tinted a light shade of green.

“What the hell did you do?!” He shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth as Sam fumed. “I have to go to school like this, you ass!”

“That was kind of the point.”

Sam stormed off, leaving Dean to chuckle into his cereal, but by the time his brother slammed the door shut, he was already thinking that maybe putting the entire packet of green die in the shower head had been a little too much, because Sam was right. Sure, Dean had to spend the whole day cleaning up the floors and the inside of the washer, but that green was going to last at least two days and Sam had to sit through class. Dean may have skated through high school on good looks and charm until he decided to drop out, but Sam was actually trying and he wasn’t nearly as good as Dean had been at blending in.

He probably owed the kid an apology, but the minute Sam got home from school, he slammed the door to the bedroom and locked it, refusing to talk to Dean, even when he finally picked the lock because he had to pee so bad it hurt. He tried apologizing and not just because he knew what he’d done was at least a pinky toe over the line, but because Sam didn’t give hand jobs when he was mad and with Dad gone, they could go at it anywhere they wanted. The couch, the kitchen table, the kitchen counter, the bathroom counter, the shower – his brain shorted as he realized their dad had an actual bed. They could dry hump on it and laugh about it behind his back.

Except at the suggestion, Sam had one of his own. “Why don’t you masturbate on it alone and I’ll laugh behind _your_ back?” Before he’d kicked Dean out of bed. Literally.

On day two of Sam refusing to talk to him or touch him in any way that didn’t cause some kind of pain, they were getting low on food, so Dean waited until Sam was back from school and headed out to find somewhere to get some cash. All their rented rooms had to meet three basic criteria. They had to be cheap, close to the school, and close to somewhere Dean could earn extra money if they needed it, because John could never be sure how long any particular hunt was going to take.

He’d gone early rather then sit around the apartment getting ignored, it took a few hours for the after work crowd to get there, a few more for it to thin out to just the deep drinkers, and a few more to get them drunk enough for Dean to work his magic without someone getting suspicious. Thankfully, one of the waitresses agreed to help Dean pass the time and it was mostly a little flirting with some quick oral in the backroom on her break, but it broke up the monotony of sitting around with his now warm beer waiting for someone to get inebriated enough to take the bait.

When he finally made it back into the apartment at a quarter to midnight, Sam was still awake, sprawled over the sofa with a plate of carrots in front of him, watching reruns of Saturday Night Live and Dean sat next to him, shoving Sam’s feet out of the way and getting a sharp kick to the thigh for his effort before Sam stretched his legs over Dean’s thighs and settled back in.

“Long night of chasing tail?”

Dean reached forward, past Sam’s legs, ignoring the foot shoved up under his nose to take one of the carrots off the plate. He bit into it as he flopped back and away from the offensive smell. “I wasn’t chasing tail, I was working.”

“Dean, scamming pool at a bar and picking up chicks does not count as work.”

“Really, then how come I’ve got a hundred fifty burning a hole in my pocket?”

“If you have a hundred and fifty why am I eating carrots for dinner? I’m a growing boy.”

“God, I hope not. You’re an inch away from being taller then me and you’re only sixteen. You keep growing you’ll be a full on sasquatch.”

“Maybe you should keep growing, too, then.” The foot that had been shoving its way under Dean’s nose a minute earlier shifted to press into his crotch, “Well, look at that, you’re already making progress.”

Dean nearly choked as he swallowed, but didn’t push the foot away. Blowjob earlier that evening or not, Sam was really good with his feet. Or maybe Dean was just a slut for it. Probably a little of both. “Dude, you better not be just fucking with me.”

The foot pressed harder, rubbing up and down and Dean let his legs fall open, giving Sam more room to work. He bit into the carrot again and was just about to move his hand over to reciprocate when Sam sat up, moving to straddle Dean’s lap, “Guess what I’ve been doing?”

Dean swallowed thickly, tossing the carrot into the table in favor of digging his fingers into Sam’s hips, pushing him down to grind his brother’s ass into his crotch. “What?”

“I’ve been getting myself ready for you.”

“Yeah?”

Dean slid one of his hands back and let his fingers slip under the waist band of Sam’s underwear, into the cleft of his ass. They hadn’t gotten that far yet, not for lack of wanting to, but Dean said they had to take it slow, build up to it. He wasn’t going from one finger and a prostate tickle to shoving a dick up his sixteen year old brother’s ass in one night. They’d been doing fingers for a few months now, though, and Sam had been all but begging Dean to take it further.

“You know what that means, Dean?”

He squeezed the tight globed of Sam’s ass cheeks and groaned. “Means you’ve been shoving things up your ass?”

“Uh hu.” Sam leaned forward, put his mouth next to Dean’s ear, his voice breathy, “Things like that carrot you just ate.”

It took a minute for his brain to catch up with what Sam was saying and when it did, Dean shoved his brother off him and scrambled off the couch, eyeing him with a new level of something between disgust and respect, but mostly disgust.

“Dude, seriously?! Food is off limits!”

Sam stayed where he’d been dropped on the couch, smiling triumphantly, “Whatever, Dad’s not here.”

“Did you really?!” Sam nodded. “Did you at least wash it?”

“Of course, I washed them. You might have noticed the smell if I hadn’t run them under soap and water. Doesn’t change the fact they were in my ass, though.”

“That…” His dick and brain were warring, because okay, yeah, that was a new level of fucked up, but he really couldn’t hate the image of Sam shoving anything up his ass. Still, though, eroticism of food and sex aside, you don’t eat the carrot afterwards. “That’s just wrong, Sam.”

“Does that mean you’re calling a truce?”

“No. It does mean I’m going to brush my teeth and then we’re going out to get real food. Food that has not been shoved up your ass.”

Sam stretched out and tapped Dean’s hip with his foot. “You know for someone who likes to talk about how much I’m gonna love it when you decide to stick your tongue up there, you certainly are squeamish about a little ass carrot.”

“Not the same thing!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Get your damn shoes on. I want pie!”

He pretended he couldn’t hear Sam laughing in the other room while he brushed his teeth and planned his revenge.

 

*****

 

The Waffle House didn’t have pie, but Dean ate two giant waffles, smothered in too-sweet syrup and teased Sam for his fruit cup and toast. By the time they got back to the apartment, they were both in a much better mood – Sam dragging Dean into long kisses and Dean shoving Sam back against the door of the apartment as he worked the key.

Dean barely managed to kick the door shut before they fell over each other onto the couch and had one hand on Sam’s zipper when his brother suddenly went still under him, “Dean.”

“What?”

“Dean.”

“Dude, what?!”

“The carrots!” Dean looked over and sure enough, the plate was empty. Who the hell…?

The toilet flushed and they flew apart. Dean hit the side of the sofa so hard he was pretty sure he was going to have a bruise, but at least he wasn’t on top of his little brother when their dad came out of the bathroom.

“Hey, boys, what are you doing up this late? Don’t you have school in the morning, Sam?”

“Huh? No, uh, holiday.” It wasn’t, but John would probably sleep through it anyway and Sam was too flustered to come up with anything better. “You’re back early.”

“Hunt didn’t pan out.” John frowned, assessing them and Dean didn’t need a mirror to know his flushed cheeks and disheveled clothes matched Sam’s. “What have you boys been up to?”

Dean jumped in with, “Sparring. We’ve been practicing at the highschool. On the field.”

Sam rolled his eyes and John sighed like it was painful, “Never mind. Dean, I want you up at 0600 and the pantry stocked before I get out of bed. I’m starving and the only thing you had in this entire place were the carrots you left out.”

They looked at each other and the words, “Truce!” came out of both their mouths before either of them could think better of it.

The deep breath John took was less of a sigh and more of a clear attempt not to strangle someone, which Dean really appreciated, because he was the oldest and most likely to be strangling. “Are we going to have another situation like with the pie?”

Sam started with, “I just…” and John cut him off with a hand and a stern look. “I do not want to hear it. _Really_. I just need to know if someone is going to end up shitting in a trash can again.”

A mumbled “no” and John nodded, “I’m going to sleep and you will never, ever tell me what you did to those carrots.”

The bedroom door slammed shut and they sat for several minute in complete silence before Sam finally blurted out, “I’m really sorry about the carrots.”

“I kind of deserved it. I know you’ve had a hard time with school and moving around so much, I shouldn’t make it harder on you by turning you into Oscar the Adorable Grouch.” Sam threw him a quick bitch face, but only at half ferocity, so Dean figured they were square. “But, look, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

He scooted over, one eye on the bedroom door while he settled his hand on the inside of Sam’s thigh and lowered his voice so John couldn’t hear through the too thin walls. “Now that Dad’s back with the car, how do you feel about losing your virginity in the back of the Impala?”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and he floundered for a moment with, “Wha…? No. I don’t… just… I am not…” before settling on, “Yes. God, yes, come on!”

 

*****

 

“And that is how Sam lost his virginity.”

“Dean, he asked whether he should get me a salad while he was out.”

“Right, sorry. And that, Kevin, is why Sam can’t have carrots on his salad.”

“What, because you think I’m gonna stick them up my ass?! First of all, they’re shredded, okay? And second, that was over ten years ago, Dean! I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“Have you or have you not stuck a vegetable up your ass in the last six months?”

“…no comment.”

“No carrots.”

“Fine!”

“Got that, Kevin? … Kevin?”

“I think you broke him.”


End file.
